A Cold Wind Blows

Chapter 4
“Blew”

The next morning, Glacier woke with a start. He hoped out of bed with a vigor he hadn’t had in years. He sauntered to the bathroom and looked in the mirror with a smile. There was a twinkle in his eye, one that could only be placed as happiness and youth. And it remained all the while he showered and brushed his teeth.

Walking down into the centre stage of his home, the stallion’s stomach began to growl something fierce. “Note to self: don’t forget to buy food and eat due to a cute stallion,” Glacier thought out loud, subconsciously making his way into the kitchen. He stopped in front of the fridge and threw the door open, his eyes laying smackdab on a scrumptious-looking red delicious apple.

Snatching it with a wing and kicking the fridge door closed on his exit, Glacier took to his desk next; the New Moon typewriter still sitting atop it’s wore veneer. Taking a bite of the apple, he placed it down on the empty portion of his desk for later. He then looked for the album he had originally placed there, sheltered and covered up by the paper he had been using for his novel, but it was nowhere to be found. Instead of finding the sealed album, the shrink wrap begging to be removed and the album played in its entirety, Glacier found a little note. It was a note that the stallion had missed last night before he went to bed. More than likely due to the fact that he had not written the entire night after Style’s departure.

He picked up the note in his wing and read off the finely written words (clearly written with the use of unicorn magic). The note read:

‘I got the album ready for you and on your turntable, Glacier
Hope you will listen to it soon. I can’t wait to talk to you about it
Your new friend,

Turn-Style
P.S. I work every day this week besides Wednesday, Saturday and Sunday. Just a heads up.’

Glacier quirked his head as he finished reading the note and placed it back down on his desk to deal with properly later (he had some plans that included the inspiration of said note). Turning to now take in his common-room in totality, Glacier gazed across the room to where his turntable lay. There, atop the surface of a small bookcase, was his Music Hall turntable. The twelve inch piece of vinyl engraved with the songs of this band Glacier had never even heard of laid out on the platter, just dying to be played out loud. The jacket of the album was even placed on top of the plastic dust cover, shrink wrap completely removed, now no doubt residing in the nearby wastebasket at Glacier writing desk. He looked to the little bin, and there it was, all crumpled up at the bottom. An ever more prevalent sign that Glacier should just give in and listen to the album already.

So, listening to the voice building in the back of his mind, Glacier made his way to the turntable at the far end of the room; the machine lay under his common-room window. He tore the curtains open to let what little light of day would come streaming through into the room. Following, the stallion looked back down to the cover of the album he had purchased. He read the title aloud to himself again and cocked his head to the side, thinking about what Style had told him about the group back at The Beat Goes On. He was sure he was going to like this one.

Glacier removed the album jacket from the dust cover and deposited it on the nearby coffee table behind him. Lifting the cover up, Glacier glanced down at the circular piece of vinyl before flicking his turntable on with a click of the power switch. The lights that shone on the little dots on the platters edge sprang to life, and Glacier let out a harmonious sigh of relief. He smiled. Pressing a little button on the machine next caused the platter to come to life as well, it now starting its thirty-three and a third revolution journey in a perpetual loop of nothing but pure musical gratification. Well, gratifying once the needle of the stylus touched the outer rim of the album, that is.

Glacier then turned a knob on the front of the unit, and low tone crackles of static and noise filled the room for but a moment before silencing. Two small bookshelf speakers sat at either end of the window, resting atop the shelves of two large bookcases. The cases rose from the floor to the roof and were covered in various albums and books that Glacier had purchased for himself over the years. More impressing than the books, of course, was the amount of albums that the stallion had grown to accumulate. About three-hundred different albums, all ranging in genre and general taste were there, lining the shelves in their weight in presence and sound. It was very much like him to listen to music while he wrote. And even though he was a writer himself, Glacier didn’t read all that much as he would like to. Perhaps he would change that attitude one day. It never hurt to be a prolific reader…like Style.

Using the lever near the rear of the ‘S’ shaped tonearm, Glacier rose it into the ‘que’ position before using a wing to bring the arm over the beginning edge of the album. He then flicked the lever and let the stylus, mounted to the cartridge at the front end of the tonearm, fall onto the outer edge of the album. The speakers shot to life again as the intense sound of a hiss and then a pop filled the air before a quieter hiss fell in its immediate place. And sooner than not, the tone of the first song came into the room. It hit hard and heavy, and Glacier nodded to himself as he thought about what Style had said one last time. He smiled again.

Walking away from the turntable as a wail came from a guitar in the first song, Glacier looked to the album on the coffee table, before flicking it over rather quickly with a rather fine-tuned gesture of his wing. He stared at the back of the album, the track-listing glaring back to him just as aggressively as the music raging through his speakers. The title of the first song was interesting to the stallion, but he shrugged it off as most song titles are rather interesting or weird in concept and design choice. But once the song was over and done with, he was sure that he would understand why the song was called what it was.

“Pretty good so far,” Glacier hummed to himself as he walked back over to his writing desk. He pulled his chair out and hopped back up onto the seat, settling himself in as he readied a paper in his newly acquired typewriter. He spun the knob on the end of the platen and the piece of paper—as white as snow—was slowly fed into the machine, it coming up and around the opposite side of the platen. Then, placing the paper fingers down on the sheet, he was ready to start work. Adjusting the margins to what he liked, the stallion then began to pound out word after word as the sounds of the newly discovered band blasted out of his bookshelf speakers behind him.

He worked on for what felt like hours but was really just fifteen minutes, the grandfather clock to his left going tick-tock slowly and monotonously. The words kept coming, the hammers of the typewriter now smacking against the page to the beat of the song playing through the speakers now. His mindset and tone began to follow in tune with the music, and sooner than not the stallion had finished over ten sheets to add to his collection of inky ones. The bare core of his apple was now in the wastebasket as well.

Throwing his eyes up to the carriage of the machine, the bell of the typewriter went off for the eleventh time. Glacier released the locking mechanism on the unit and tore the paper from its roost, scanning its contents over with a critical eye. It looked good enough to him. And, with a flick of a hoof, the eleventh page of the day had been completed, it now lying on the pile of over one-hundred pages.

This manuscript was certainly the stallion’s most thorough and extensive yet.

Smiling as he seen the pile that he had finally created after six months hard work, Glacier sighed deeply. His exhale was ragged and jittery. He was in a state of pure bliss, content with how much work he had now—

Pop!

The stallion jumped from his reclined position, his eyes shooting open as he craned his head back to look at his record player. It was in this moment that the stallion realized that this side of the album had finally finished, and that the popping was just the tell-tale sign of the stylus snapping snuggly into the end groove. Each revolution eliciting another pop, though each one was far quieter than the initial one.

Slipping off of his writing chair, Glacier made his way back towards the turntable in question. He rose the tonearm with the use of the tonearms lever, and placed it back in its resting position before flipping the album over with the use of his wings. He placed the tonearm over the edge of the second side of the album and lowered the needle to the vinyl once more. There was a crackle-hiss and a slight pop that emanated from his speakers again. But sooner than not, the loud hiss was replaced with that of the quieter one from the first side. The stallion smiled and began his walk back over to his desk as the first song of the second side came blaring out of the speakers. It was hard, just like the others, and Glacier was sure that this side would impress just like the first had. He could hardly wait.

Sitting back down, Glacier took to inserting another paper into his typewriter, and began to hammer out many more words to join that of his first slew. The page count grew and grew as each song on this side of the album came and went. The stallion would have to check over their names after listening to them and have another thorough listening, just to be sure that he had taken in the fullness of the music he would be discussing with Style.

He finished another ten pages before he opted for a break for the day.

The needle came to a rest just like it had on the first side of the album, the same old loud pop emanating out as it snapped into the end groove. It bellowed out almost silently with each continuous revolution of the disk until Glacier halted it.

Removing the needle from the disk, Glacier picked up the disk in one wing and flipped it with the combined efforts of them both. He placed ‘Side A’ upright once more, and readied the needle above the rim. He smiled. Placing the need back down on the first side, Glacier took in the sound as the needle settled into the groove once more and then went and sat down on his couch—head hung over the backrest, eyes closed.

As he got comfortable, the sounds of the first song sung back out through his home, the same grungy sound and wailing guitar greeting him with open arms and blissful ecstasy. His smile grew wider as he thought about all he and Style would have to talk about on their next encounter. He couldn’t wait.